Agent M
by Sersee Grayson
Summary: AU. Toshiro Hitsugaya turned and faced the cocked gun pointed at him. "Took you long enough, Hinamori. Even after seven years, I never doubted you." Shamelessly based off of Agent J by Jolin Tsai.
1. Of Greed and Lust

**Summary**: AU. Toshiro Hitsugaya turned and faced the cocked gun pointed at him. "Took you long enough, Hinamori. Even after seven years, I never doubted you." Shamelessly based off of Agent J by Jolin Tsai.

**Disclaimer**: Bleach belongs to the slightly sexist Tite Kubo, and even the story line is liberally adapted from the mini movie/ MV of Agent J by Jolin Tsai.

**A/N**: I just bit off a chip in my gel nail. Ughhhh, the collateral damage of writers block (or more like, how-do-I-phrase-what-I-see-in-my-head) frustration!

**Agent M **

**Chapter One: Of Greed and Lust.**

888

_Greed. Greed and lust. Born out of pride, man's greatest sin. _

The skyline of Paris was well worth all the sung praises, especially from the roof of the thirty four story hotel _Le Pavillion de Lettre_. The sunset bathed numerous skyscrapers in a healthy orange glow, the sky a beautiful mixture of pink clouds and gradually darkening indigo. The obvious outline of the Eiffel Tower sat dark and proud in the middle of the breathtaking scene.

But it went unnoticed to the uncharacteristically soft brown eyes, set in an otherwise mask of stone, as they searched single-mindedly for her target.

Dressed in a skin tight black long sleeve shirt, short leather shorts and black boots that traveled up past her knee, she made her way silently across the rooftop, knowing that he would be there. He was a person of rigid habit and he had never failed to appear daily at the rooftop of this particular hotel every day at sunset.

Or so her report said.

A slim figure suddenly loomed into her vision, standing fifty metres from her, silhouetted in the setting sun. Was that her target?

She fingered her handgun, Tobiume, that lay concealed in the top of her right boot as she approached the figure with graceful stealth. The blurry silhouette sharpened into unruly hair, which appeared snow white as she made her way closer. His back was also to her, which she decided, somewhat belatedly, was a good thing.

She could finish this without him ever seeing her. She pulled out Tobiume and cocked it, wincing slightly at the sound.

The figure didn't turn, and she let out the breath she didn't know she was holding. She knew she had wasted enough time, and if she didn't pull the trigger, he would turn around, and she would have to _see _him, the kill would no longer be blessedly clean. She brought Tobiume to eye level and aimed.

_Toshiro Hitsugaya._ Primary body guard to Governer Kaname Tosen, a proven traitor. Sinner.

He spoke suddenly, his voice quiet and strained.

"Took you long enough, Hinamori."

She jumped a foot into the air in shock and almost dropped Tobiume. Toshiro Hitsugaya turned around and faced the cocked gun pointed at him. "I said you took long enough, Hinamori"

_Hinamori?_ She didn't know what he was talking about, but something in her stomach told her to stay her hand just a little longer. Perhaps it was curiosity.

"It's been seven years, yet I never doubted you." The slim white-haired man continued with a sad smile. "Remember, Hinamori? If we ever got lost in this big city – " He gestured to the Paris skyline. " – we would always meet back here."

His tone became pleading. "Don't you remember, Momo?" He pulled out his left hand where a golden ring sat on his ring finger and waved it in front of her. "It's me... your Hitsugaya-kun."

She hesitated, something in her mind tugged at her, and she lowered Tobiume a fraction.

"Momo-chan... it's been too long..." Those icy blue eyes pulled at her, instilling a deep sense of desperation. His arms opened in what seem like an embrace. _He wanted to hug her?_ It made no sense.

_... That is enough._

She gripped Tobiume tighter and pulled the trigger.

888 – _One year previously._

_Lust and greed are more gullible than innocence. Pathetic._

Omaeda sat in his private booth at the most exclusive club in uptown Paris. The smell of marijuana, Cuban cigars, and expensive brandy hung in the air. The loud and obtrusive music pulsed a symphony in his drug and alcohol addled mind, and the strippers on the poles writhed and danced in ways that made his hormones surge.

It was through this haze that his eye caught the young woman who was serving them the latest round of the House's finest brandy. Her bright brown eyes glowed in the semi darkness and the sheer red fabric barely covering her slender body, yet leaving just enough to the imagination, made her a coy Aphrodite.

He decided in a split second that he wanted to go home with her, and so he motioned to her to sit on the couch beside him.

"I," he said importantly, "am Mareyicho Omaeda. Whats yours." He slurred his words slightly, and placed an oversized hand on her upper thigh. She smiled slightly, and leaned in to speak to him. Her voice was like singing wind chimes, and it instantly made him wonder what she'd sound like in bed.

"That's no fun." She giggled and lightly stroked the beginnings of a bulge in his pants. "I'd rather not tell you." She flipped her hair so he could smell her sultry perfume, and he lost it.

Mareyicho Omaeda didn't seem to have heard a word she said; all coherent thought that did not relate to her, bed, and moaning escaped his mind. He smiled stupidly at her.

"I'd rather," her voice dropped another octave as she climbed onto his lap. "Go to a more... _private _room. Wouldn't you?"

_Greed reduces a great man to nothing but a sinner. A slave to lust._

Toshiro Hitsugaya carried the cup of instant ramen to his desk, and he sat down amongst the vast array of previous takeout boxes and stacks of paper.

It has been six years that Hitsugaya braved the city of love alone, six years spent searching and searching and never finding. The bulletin board opposite him bore witness to his obsession as it was drowned in various thumb tacked canon shots of a petit brunette with soft brown eyes and a loving smile, often with her hair in a bun but some with her hair down in a fan around her pale heart shaped face.

He blew on his ramen to cool it, but his mind was rather occupied staring at the deep pools of chocolate eyes. She was a beauty, and there was not one day that he'd let himself forget it.

More often than not, she was accompanied by a man whose unruly hair was white as snow, his normally ice cold eyes softened with love as he held her against various backgrounds. Sakura trees in spring, the coliseum in Rome, a sunset on a beach, and the biggest photo of all: her in a long white dress kissing the unruly haired man in front of a crowd of what looked like various family members.

The pictures where often obscured by newspaper clippings (although they never covered her smiling face), the most obvious one was six years old, yellowing around the edges.

"_Missing while on her honeymoon in Paris, France: beloved Japanese dancer, Momo Hinamori."_

But for once Hitsugaya was not obsessively pouring over newspapers in their various stages of decay. As the youngest head of the French National Police force's homicide division, he was bombarded recently by the mysterious string of murders. Many members of the federal left-winged opposition party have been killed by a single shot through the head, with the bullet never being found at the scene of the crime. Gin Ichimaru was the first of many, the opposition leader's direct right hand man. Then came Coyote Starrk, a prominent left-wing minister. Then Ulqiuorra Schiffer, another loyal supporter. Then Soi-Feng, an intelligence head, and now yesterday, Marechiyo Omaeda, the most important supplier of political funding lay dead in a private room of an exclusive Paris club.

The oddest thing about each and every murder was, at the scene of the crime, a candid picture of the victim was left beside the body. On the back of the picture, written in a distinctive cursive, were the victim's name, profession, their approximate time and place of death, and the word _sinner_.

He reread the piece of paper that he clutched in his hand as he methodically ate his instant ramen.

Toshiro Hitsugaya, head of the Homicide Division in the French National Police Force, was to be assigned as undercover body guard for Tousen Kaname, the last surviving prominent supporter of Sosuke Aizen, leader of the Federal Opposition Party.

888

_And so the world must be cleansed. Of greed. Of lust. Of sinners. _

The shimmery red fabric slid down her body to rest on the floor as she climbed into her bathtub. Sighing heavily, she closed her eyes as the scalding water slowly loosened the muscles she didn't know was knotted.

After all, a successful mission deserved relaxation.

She smiled idly, and reached for the bible that sat on the toilet cover. In her absence, something was slid between its pages.

Another name. Another face. Another time. Another location.

_Tousen Kaname._ Two weeks from now outside the _Louvre Museum_where he is to give a speech.

And life goes on.

888

**A/N: Please make me so giddy and happy and _review. Also!_ Check out the fabulous MV that spawned this story!**


	2. Mary Han

**Disclaimer:**I really do wish I owned Bleach. Then I wouldn't be so curious as to various people's bankais (Shunsui, Unohana, and Urahara in particular) and Yachiru's shikai...

**A/N:**I want to thank _Desiree, Koatan, icyangel27, _and_ animelover996_ for reviewing. And the various people who favourite-d me, and put me/this story on alert. You guys made my day. I will therefore dedicate this chapter to _animelover996_ for being the first to review!

**Chapter Two:****Mary Han**

888

_She held her camera pointed at them at arms length with one hand and grabbed his with the other. "This," She proclaimed sagely, ..._

888 – _One year ago._

It was their wedding night.

He was standing nervously in the front of the long aisle, blinded by flashing cameras, painfully bright chandeliers and rivers of flowing white silk.

And her. Always her.

"I do." He says to her, holding her left hand in both of his, her diamond ring adding to the blinding gleam. He looks into the chocolate depths of her eyes and instead of love, he sees only confusion.

Something is wrong.

No, you don't. She frowns and his heart sinks at the piercing accusation in her tone. He plops himself down heavily on their shared bed in Paris. Where have you been? She is standing in front of him, but his tunnel vision focuses on her doe-like eyes.

"Momo, I have. Every day for the past six years, I have waited for you."

You weren't there, she maintains stubbornly with a confused tempest in her eyes.

"Silly Momo, I love you." And at that, she sighs.

I have to go. Her face is hovering over the American couple's shoulder, and his head snaps up from the map he is gesturing at. "Must you go so soon? I promise I'll keep my eyes on you forever this time."

Then come find me. She is walking away from him now, ignoring the incoherent pleading soon falling from his lips.

She suddenly stops and offers him her hand, but he can't reach it. He can't catch up.

Hinamori! She smiles sadly and resumes her walking, form shrinking steadily as the distance grows.

Hinamori! Momo, my bed wetter Momo!

_... "is the famous Skyline de Paris!" She grinned at her newly wedded husband as she put on her best French accent. "Now, smile Shiro-chan!" But he frowned..._

Toshiro Hitsugaya woke up in cold sweat, heart aching at the lingering desperation of his vivid dream.

As of late, he's been dreaming about her with a furious frequency, regardless of whether or not he was asleep. He also started seeing her everywhere: on a bus, getting in a taxi, and even once he could've sworn she was a background spectator on a recent news report.

The aching feeling in his chest refused to leave him the entire morning, even as he stood under icy cold water of his morning shower, all he thought about was _her_ and the lingering feelings of helplessness that always seemed to be associated with _her_.

But it ebbed slowly, as dreams do, when he ate a hearty breakfast and almost completely disappeared by the time he got into his pride and joy: his silver white Porsche 911 and arrived at the Louvre Museum encountering an agreeably flowing morning traffic.

It returned in full when he encountered a figure walking along the road as he was almost at his destination: a flash of brown hair, a familiar walk, and a glimpse of the pale face that haunted his dreams almost caused an accident. He had attempted to pull over on the side of the street, but when he finally maneuvered his Porsche to the curb, she had vanished.

Thus begun the most miserable work day he had to endure since he went undercover.

The crushing feeling of emptiness haunted Toshiro throughout the day, and it got to the point where he had to shirk his duties to avoid the claustrophobic mass of people crowding around Kaname Tosen as he gave his speech and answered questions.

It was well past two hours before Hitsugaya shook his head and berated himself for being unable to deal with the crowd – he was the youngest department head in French National Police history, for God's sake.

He shook his head again at his foolishness, and walked back just as the party surrounding Governor Kaname Tosen stepped out of the grand doors of the famous museum. The press conference was evidently over.

"Captain Hitsugaya." The team of Kaname Tosen's body guards all dipped their heads to him as he moved to rejoin their ranks. He nodded back absentmindedly, and instead of leading the party like he normally would, he hung back and guarded the rear.

Toshiro Hitsugaya barely walked ten steps before a shot rang out.

_... with his fiercest might and it earned him a punch on the arm for 'ruining a perfect picture'. He pulled his new wife in for a kiss and said, with his gruffest ..._

Shock ran through his body as he whirled around to face the direction of the sound and caught a glimpse of brown hair in a bun and chocolate brown eyes as she ran like a cheetah. His shock suddenly became a burning chill to the bone.

_It must be another day dream. It must._

It was some apparition, a trick by his sleep deprived mind. He couldn't think. Couldn't form coherent sentences to yell to his panicking team. He was vaguely aware of a fallen Tosen and the confusion around him, but his eyes were glued on the running figure. He didn't know what his body was doing. His mind was light years behind his instincts as he felt his feet working, one in front of the other, sprinting after her image.

As he chased her through the winding streets of Paris, her bouncing bun (as he could see nothing else) was always several paces ahead. But he was snapping out of his shock, and he was gaining on her.

"Hinamori!" He cried after her. She didn't turn, or make any gesture signalling her hearing him.

"Hinamori!" He yelled it like a prayer. "Stop! Momo!"

People were stopping to stare, but he ignored them all. There was only one thing that existed, one thing he sought with singled minded obsession.

He chased the bun for what felt like an eternity, never doubting his chances of finally catching her. As he was just about to reach out, the bun dancing in front of his vision suddenly turned a sharp left, and as he followed, he found himself in a crowd of people just leaving a packed train station. He quickly glanced around and saw neither head nor tails of the elusive bun.

Dismay fell on his shoulders like a dead weight, but he refused to give up.

After walking briskly for a quarter of an hour searching for her, and catching neither a glimpse of her face nor her bun, Hitsugaya finally admitted defeat and dejectedly walked back to his team.

"Captain." It was Rangiku Matsumoto, his second in command. She walked over clutching a large evidence bag in her hands. "It's just like the others." She quietly handed him the bag, with a look of sympathy for his failed chase.

It was a candid picture of Tosen, and a bullet.

888

_...voice: "I told you not to call me Shiro-chan, it makes me sound childish." But his complaints went to deaf ears..._

888

_Hinamori? What is that? Why did that man insisted on calling her that_? She thought breathlessly as she sat down on a bench in a crowded shopping mall. She had known he would instinctively assume she would move_ against _the flow of people and he moved likewise, but the minute she lost herself in the crowd, she moved _with _it. And then she turned and had watched the man fruitlessly search for her and finally give up.

She was fascinated with the man.

Who was he? She felt like she should know, he was so damn familiar.

Her mind dwelled helplessly, her thoughts drifting in circles, chasing each other around and ultimately ending up on the same points that she started with.

And so for almost an hour, she sat at the bench on the train station lost in her thoughts.

She knew she wasn't this Hinamori the man was shouting about. Her name was _Mary Han_.

She thought back on her days as an orphan, struggling constantly to fill her belly along with dozens of others in an overcrowded and under financed orphanage. She remembered her uncontained joy when a Dr. Mayuri Kurosutchi adopted _her_ out of all the others. And afterwards, she always had proper clothes, toys, and enough to eat (which was the most important thing to her). The day she started training for what she was today he gave her a name, since she never had a proper one. It was an inconspicuous name, an easily forgettable name. She would never have to use false aliases for her missions, but it made no difference whether she gave her real name or not. She would never be found in any database searches.

She doesn't really know much about her life. She didn't know if she ever had a family to call her own, or where she was born. Whether or not she was really of Chinese ancestry. Or anything important about her life before the adoption.

But there is one thing she is absolutely sure of. She owes Dr. Mayuri Kurosutchi her life for giving _it_ a purpose.

888

_...as her attention was caught once more by the city of love. "Say, Toshiro. Paris is a rather large city."..._

888

**A/N: **Did you guys think the mini story within the story (within the story within the story... oooo INCEPTION!) was slightly confusing? I really hope not... anyways, the next chapter will be up shortly. It's already written, just needs some massive editing!

Oh, please remember to drop a review... and **recommend me a good HitsuHina**! I am fiending for HitsuHina!


	3. Promise me, Toshiro?

**Disclaimer:** I really can't think of any other clever things to say. I don't own _Bleach_, really!

**A/N: **I would like to thank you guys for reading, and even more for reviewing. I pour tears of happiness when I get reviews, honestly!

I would also like to thank _tenten's1, ichiruki45, hinamori-san_ for reviewing, and I would like to dedicate this chapter to _icyangel27_. I read and enjoyed PhoenixSong4232's Premonition immensely!

888

_...as her attention was caught once more by the city of love. "Say, Toshiro. Paris is a rather large city."..._

888

"Dr. Kurosutchi, sir. We have a slight problem." Akon, one of the surveillance nobodies handed him a sheet a paper. Dr. Kurosutchi didn't even spare a glace as he lazily passed it to the lady behind him, much to Akon's dismay.

"Take care of it, Nemu."

Nemu dipped her head slightly and cradled the paper to her generous bosom. "Yes, Dr. Kurosutchi. "

"But Dr. Kurosutchi! It's important!" Akon desperately called after him and wrung his hands. "It's about – "

"I don't a give a flying fuck!" the doctor snapped at him before walking through and shutting the door to his personal laboratory in Akon's unattractive face. _Dammit_. Can't they do anything without him? Already, he had to personally inspect five experimental subjects because he _knew_, by looking at his underlings' reports on said subjects, that something wasn't right.

They all deserve to be subjects themselves for being such incompetent failures, he thought as his painted face formed into a fierce scowl. Then his face relaxed.

"Nemu."

His faithful assistant was here in an instant. "Yes, Dr. Kurosutchi?"

"Read the damn piece of paper. God knows I'd probably have to face some mistake _he_ fucked up on." He waved his hands lazily, his face was resigned and he looked defeated, as if he knew he faced a tiring day ahead.

"It's Project Agent M, Dr. Kurosutchi." Nemu was emotionless, but the masked doctor sprang up with sudden alertness. He hoped beyond hope that Akon had misinterpreted his data and had gotten all worked up over nothing. Project Agent M was his greatest success, one that won him international fame among the scientific community, and hell was he going to let anything antagonize that pedestal.

"Well?" He waited with bated breath.

"The report detailed a chance encounter with one Toshiro Hitsugaya on the subject's most recent mission, Dr. Kurosutchi." He raised an eyebrow, _who?_ And Nemu elaborated."Toshiro Hitsugaya. 22 years old. From Kyoto, Japan. Youngest Head of the French National Police force's Homicide Division. Momo Hinamori's husband."

Dr. Kurosutchi jumped. "What, Nemu?"

Nemu repeated herself. At this he flew into rage, his body quivered and he struck his assistant across the face.

…_He only grunted in agreement and nuzzled…_

He ignored Nemu as she flew across the room and went out cold as she hit the far wall. He didn't care for anything other than the possibility of the falling out of Project Agent M.

She is by far, his greatest success.

He remembered the first time he had laid eyes on the girl. He was of Japanese descent, and recognized the beautiful dancer the minute she walked in front of him on the streets of Paris. She had the perfect body, dancer's flexibility and prowess, and he knew at that moment, he would never settle for anyone else as his subject.

Dr. Mayuri Kurosutchi prided himself with having beautiful and noteworthy subjects for experimentation. This one was perhaps the most beautiful and the most noteworthy.

He had then worked tirelessly, campaigning and appealing for funding and rights. Granted, none of the highbrow, IQ-less, morons with really deep pockets really understood the full implication of his experimental drugs. Except himself, his partner Dr. Sayel Apporo Granz, the results of his previous experimentation Nemu, and the diligent but dense bookkeeper who follows his every order.

It wasn't just a drug for Alzheimer's like he had said, but it works on the procedural memories that are stored in a person's hippocampus. As itcan work to repair the damaged neurons and prevent further degeneration in the hippocampus region, a slight modification in substituent can also erase existing connections and allow new ones to form.

Like wiping a slate clean.

He kidnapped her right off the streets of Paris, and brought her to his laboratory. He injected her with the drug intravenously, and when she woke with no memories, he installed her new ones, all fabricated off course.

She was to be called Mary Chan, an orphan with an insatiable debt to himself. She was introduced to the word of mercenaries and killers for hire under the guise of cleansing of the souls of the world.

She lapped every word, and believed them to her core. Of course, she had little choice in the matter.

Leading neuroscientists and neuropharmacologists were so impressed with her that they all would have offered their wives and daughters for experimentation just to see his project in action. It had put the name Dr. Mayuri Kurosutchi, Neuroscientist, on the minds of every leading researcher in that field.

When she started killing, she killed for money. Anyone willing to shell out six figures to eliminate someone found their target dead within the week.

She was so efficient, so skilled, and so unbelievably innocent looking. She had help put the name Dr. Mayuri Kurosutchi, Agent for Hire, on the minds of every corrupt politician, corporate spies, and cartels with six figure incomes. She was his funding and his pride and joy.

Which was the reason why he couldn't keep his calm when this _upstart_ of a previous husband threatened to shake the foundations under his most brilliantly cultivated work.

And he knew that this man must die for ever daring to interfere.

"Nemu," He called, but he receives no answer from the knocked out figure behind him. "You worthless piece of shit. Akon!"

He walked out, already planning in his mind the course of action to take to effectively eliminate the threat to his precious project in the form of Hitsugaya Toshiro.

888

_... against her neck. "If one of us ever gets lost... let's just meet back here. This hotel is famous enough. I mean_ …

888 – _In the present._

"It's been seven years, yet I never doubted you." The slim white-haired man continued with a sad smile. "Remember, Hinamori? If we ever got lost in this big city – " He gestured to the Paris skyline. " – we would always meet back here."

His tone became pleading. "Don't you remember, Momo?" He pulled out his left hand where a golden ring sat on his ring finger and waved it in front of her. "It's me... your Hitsugaya-kun."

She hesitated, something in her mind tugged at her, and she lowered Tobiume a fraction.

"Momo... it's been too long..." Those icy blue eyes pulled at her, desperate. His arms opened in what seem like an embrace . She could see toned chest under his half-done dress shirt and around his neck hung a pair of binoculars. _He wanted to hug her?_ It made no sense.

... That is enough.

She gripped Tobiume tighter and pulled the trigger.

But her shaking hands missed her target. The bullet flew too high and left a bloody scrape on the side of her target's silver head.

Hitsugaya grimaced at the sudden pain and fingered his wound, but his pleading green eyes never left her face.

"I promised you, Momo-chan. I waited here for the past seven years."

The shock of her failed shot reverberated through her body, making her almost drop Tobiume. But she grips it harder.

And she shoots him again.

This time the bullet embeds itself in his body and he crumples; his face a painted picture of pain. But she ignores it as she realises she's missed her mark again. In her haste, she missed the heart and punctured the lung.

She had wanted an instant death. Her impeccable skills have forced her to miss twice. She frowned as she mentally schedules extra shooting practice for the foreseeable future.

But a gasping for air pulls her out of her thoughts, her target is trying his hardest to staunch his chest wound, but she knows it's hopeless with a punctured lung. But he's trying anyways, clutching at his chest, ripping at the jacket, fumbling for a handkerchief, pulling out a photo –

"Bed... wetter..." He struggles to get his words out, splatters and coughs up blood in his desperation. "... Momo... Remember...?" He tries to hand her a blood smeared picture as she cautiously approaches, her mind distraught.

As she gets close enough, he catches her hand and grips tight, his eyes already glassy with approaching death. He manages to get one more thing out, which she knew was of utter importance to him.

… _from here, you could probably see me walking anywhere in Paris with a decent pair of binoculars. Promise me, Toshiro? I don't know what I'd do if I lost you... I mean you're the one that knows French!"_

"I... promised..." He trailed off before finally remaining silent and falling at her feet in a bloody heap.

She was distracted as she closed her eyes and sent her customary prayer for the dead.

There was something about this target that refused to leave her. As she stared at the strong angles of the jaw, the slim figure that she somehow knew was deceptively strong, and at his closed eyelids that covered the aquamarine eyes that were unusually familiar to her, she innately knew something was wrong.

She had made a mistake and she didn't know what it was.

She tried to push that disturbing thought from her mind and her eyes continued to trace the dead target's body with such intensity that she could probably recall every line on his face, every hair on his eyebrows, and every shape of every blood stain on his fingers.

Bloody fingers which were clutched around an equally bloody photo.

Unattributed confusion and mounting anxiety seemed to slow down time. She bent down to get a closer look at the photo. She picked up the blood smeared photo and wiped it with her fingers for what seemed like an eternity.

Her heart skipped a beat and her mind felt like it was going to slowly explode.

Toshiro Hitsugaya was dressed in a black suit with his messy hair short and spiked artistically. He was standing in front of a majestic cherry in bloom, with some of the pink petals resting on his shoulder, and one in his hair. He was smirking playfully at the camera.

His arms were snaked around a petit brunette whom she found she couldn't tear her eyes away from. She knew instantly who the girl must be.

Momo Hinamori.

888

**A/N:** Phew! Sorry, I couldn't let Toshiro live. In the MV, the guy dies, and you cry for a good couple minutes afterwards. And since I'm always on a lookout for good HitsuHina, heres my recommendation for this chapter: _A series of Firsts _by selfavoidingwalk. Go check it out in my Favourite Stories section and drool over the amazing writing.

**Any more HitsuHina recommendations? **


	4. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: **I wish, I wish!

**A/N: **No story of mine has ever required an epilogue and the prospect of finally writing one is rather exciting. And yes, _icyangel27,_ I did mean wedelin-gisela! My apologies. D= Thank you all for sticking with this story!

888

**Epilogue – **_In the present._

Dr. Kurosutchi paced back and forth in his pristine white laboratory. Nemu, his ever faithful and ever expressionless assistant stood beside the door. Her empty eyes watched her father as he wore a constant path into the floor tiles.

He has been like this for the past three days. Ever since the subject of Project Agent M disappeared on her most recent mission, the GPS tracker in the back of her neck was taken out and disabled.

Dr. Kurosutchi dispatched every force within his power on a silent manhunt throughout the city. Nothing turned up. Nothing in the vast security footages that covered the entire city, its underground subways and various public places. Nothing in the wireless data of cellphones. She was trained too well, vanishing like a vapour.

And so he paced, putting to work his enormous brainpower –to find the subject he prized beyond all others, even his own daughter.

_Click-clack, click-clack._ The sound of heels echoed through the hallway outside his door. It made his head snap up and out of its reverie, it was an eerily familiar.

The click-clacking stopped outside his door and it paused there, seeming to contemplate something. Then the heavy metal slowly opened and Dr. Kurosutchi received an eyeful of Tobiume.

His face spread into a huge (albeit freaky) grin.

"My, my. Mary Han, you have been very naughty – " He cut off as the tearstained face of his subject appeared before him. She cocked her gun.

"Shut _up_!" Her delicate eyebrows furrowed together violently. A single tear slid down her face. "Who am I?"

The doctor stared at her incredulously and a few seconds passed in a tense silence. "My, my. How very vexing. You are Mary Chan, born August 21, 1991. You are twenty years old, live on Thirty-first street, downtown Paris. When you were six years of age, I, Dr. Mayuri Kurosutchi, adopted your ungrateful self from a country orphanage in the county of Versailles. When you were seven and two months old, you – " For the second time she cut him off by throwing a piece of paper at him. When he caught it he realised it was a photograph. A wedding picture under a blooming cherry tree, with Mt. Fuji in the background.

"Let us try this again. _Who am I?_" She pointed to the picture in his hands with Tobiume. "Who _am _I? Who is _she?_"

"_I_ do not know who she is." But his mind worked furiously as he looked at her with a feigned nonchalance. How did she get her hands on a picture of Momo Hinamori?

She looked taken aback for a few seconds. It appears that she expected a different answer. But she composed herself again brilliantly. "She's Momo Hinamori."

"I am Momo Hinamori." She said this slowly, as if she was convincing herself as well as Dr. Kurosutchi. "I am married to Toshiro Hitsugaya... I know this. This is true. I..." She stopped as she blinked away more tears that had threatened to fall. Dr. Kurosutchi couldn't help but be slightly impressed at these deductions she made.

"I _know_ this is true... I feel it to my core. _I_ know. I _know._ But... I don't ... remember _anything_ about it. _What have you done to me, Mayuri Kurosutchi?_" At this a shot rang out, and Dr. Kurosutchi shut his eyes and braced himself for a painful bullet wound, but none came. When he opened his eyes, he found that his subject was not pointing the gun at him, but at his daughter. Nemu lay dead on the ground, bleeding from a head wound.

"What did you do my _memories?_" His subject was now yelling hysterically, tears streaming down her face. "Why can't I remember? Why me? Why did you _make_ me kill... " She fell to her knees and broke off sobbing on the ground.

Dr. Kurosutchi looked at her with detached eyes. His greatest experiment was coming apart before his eyes.

"Six years ago on a sunny day in April," He began in a quiet voice. "I saw a young Japanese dancer that was perfect for my subject. You see, I was only a PhD candidate, desperate to make my mark in the scientific community. A neuroscientist who researched drugs to prevent, slow, or reverse Alzheimer, but I stumbled on something much greater. "

He smiled at her dejected form then, eyes shone as he remembered something amazing. "It was a neurotoxin that erased memories from the hippocampus. It allowed me to build and shape anyone I wanted. Implant new memories in the hazy vulnerable few days when the hippocampus tries to adapt a whole new series of neural connections. I gave you new memories, and made you – "

"They never felt real." The figure on the ground didn't look up as she spoke.

"Really? Hm." Dr. Kurosutchi put on his most thoughtful face. Then grinned at her. "it's because all those memories had no emotional connection, of course!" She looked up at stared at him, and he chuckled. "You see, my dear subject, your emotional memories were untouched in the amygdala. Thats why you were so sure that you were Momo Hinamori, and felt some kind of emotional connection to Toshiro Hitsugaya. Thats why I had you kill him, I wanted to see – "

He never got to finish his sentence. Momo Hinamori raised Tobiume so quickly he couldn't follow it and shot a bullet through his forehead before he could comprehend what was happening.

Then Momo Hinamori brought the gun to her own temple, and closed her eyes. She pictured the smiling face of Toshiro Hitsugaya on the wedding day she will never remember and sent him a silent, heartfelt apology.

And pulled the trigger.

888

**A/N:** This concludes Agent M. It has been a blast! Love your lovely reviews, so hit me with em. :] Hit me with more HitsuHina fanfics too! Oh, and yes, I including several science nerdiness, I hope you didn't mind. :]

For this chapter… I recommend… hmmm. _Circularity_ by , it's probably the most bittersweet one-shot I have ever read. As always, it's on my favourites!


End file.
